


Rock and Roll Razorblade

by theladyscribe



Series: Roadtripping [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Humor, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4344827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks he can hear muffled sobs, and he freezes. Is she crying? He frowns; Jo doesn’t cry, even when she’s been thrown around by an angry ghost. Something is not right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock and Roll Razorblade

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly stolen from the Hanson song of the same name.

It’s mid-afternoon and Dean is just getting back from the laundromat. Sam is out getting sandwiches and drinks before they go into hardcore research mode. And Jo apparently is cursing up a storm in the bathroom.

“Jo?” he calls as he sets down the duffle with their fresh laundry.

He hears a muttered, “Shit,” as he comes toward the bathroom.

“Jo?” He knocks on the door. “You all right in there?”

“Dammit,” and something clatters in the sink.

Dean pauses, his hand on the doorknob. He thinks he can hear muffled sobs, and he freezes. Is she crying? He frowns; Jo doesn’t cry, even when she’s been thrown around by an angry ghost. Something is not right. “Jo? I’m coming in.”

He’s beginning to turn the door handle when she shouts, “No! Dean, I’m not dressed!”

He rolls his eyes and says, “So?”

“So you can’t come in.”

“Dammit, Jo, it’s not like I haven’t seen it all already. What’s going on in there?” He turns the knob and pushes the door open. It takes him a moment to process what he’s witnessing, but Jo’s sitting on the side of the tub, stripped from the waist down, and there’s a bloody towel, a bottle of shaving cream, and a straight razor – _his_ razor – lying on the floor and holy mother of—is all that blood _hers_? “Jo?”

She jumps at his voice, but she turns baleful eyes up at him. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, a little hoarse. “I just—”

“What happened?” Dean’s crouched beside her now, checking her body for injuries. All the blood seems to be coming from her legs, and he’s starting to put the puzzle together in his head: the straight razor, the shaving cream, the blood. “Jo? My razor? What were you _thinking_?” he asks as he reaches toward where the washcloths sit on the sink.

She rubs at her face a little, and he can see that her fingertips are stained red, so he grabs one hand, wiping her fingers gently with the warm washcloth. “I was just—” She ducks her head. “I left my razor at the last hotel – we were out of there so fast, and I didn’t even think to grab that stuff – and it’s been so hot and the backseat has been miserable because the air doesn’t circulate and I’ve been wearing my jeans all the time. So today I figured I’d just use your stuff and pick up a new razor of my own the next time we stocked the first aid kit.”

“You know, you could have just said something. We would have stopped at a pharmacy – it’s never too soon to restock the kit.”

Jo sniffs. “I didn’t wanna bother you with it – we’d just restocked and it didn’t seem like a big deal, because it was only gonna be for a few days, but then it’s been so unbearably hot and—”

Dean puts a hand over her mouth to stop her rambling. “Jo. You could have killed yourself with this.” He holds up his razor in his other hand, the yellow bathroom light making the blood look sinister. He sets it back down, sighing a little, and rises from his crouch. He holds out a hand and helps her up onto the counter by the sink. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He quirks an eyebrow as he surveys her legs. “And then we’ll probably have to restock the kit.” He grins and she smiles sheepishly back at him.

She hisses a little as he wipes her legs with cotton balls dipped in rubbing alcohol. “It burns,” she murmurs.

“Sorry, but you don’t want an infection.” She grabs his shoulder as he cleans a particularly nasty-looking cut; he can practically feel the bruise forming in the shape of her fingers. “Can I ask you something, Jo?” he says as he works.

“What?”

He glances up at her. Her eyes are a little puffy from where she’d been crying, and she looks more tired than she usually does. He thinks. To be honest, he hasn’t really been paying attention, since they’ve been hunting pretty much non-stop since they picked her up from the Roadhouse a month ago.

“What?” she repeats, and he realizes he’s been staring.

Dean shrugs a little. “I was just wondering: why’d you use my straight razor when you could have used Sam’s electric one? It would have been much easier to use, and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

She bites her lip and her eyes slide away from him as she says, “I was going to, but I couldn’t figure out how to turn it on.”

He laughs. “So you decided to attempt suicide?” He grunts a little when her hand connects with his head; he figures it’s probably a good thing he’s got a firm grip on her ankle, because he knows how lethal her kicks can be. “Hey, mind not beating up your doctor?”

“Mind not insulting your patient?” she retorts with a glare.

“Touché,” he remarks with a smirk. He places the last band-aid on her leg and pats her knee awkwardly. “Alright, we’re done,” he says, standing quickly and brushing the band-aid wrappers into the trashcan. He helps Jo off the counter.

“Thanks,” she says, looking down at her feet.

“Yeah,” he answers. He scratches his head; it seems like he should say something else to break the awkward silence that’s suddenly befallen them, but the only thing that comes to mind is something about kissing to make it better, and he doesn’t think that would be appropriate really.

She glances back up at him. “Uh, Dean, could you, you know, let me get dressed now?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He blushes a little as he realizes for the first time that she’s only wearing a tank top and a pair of (very cute) panties. “I’ll just, uh, go. Away.” He walks back into the hotel room, and she shuts the door lightly behind him.

He flops down onto the bed and turns on the TV. Jo emerges a few minutes later, fully-clothed and with the tell-tale signs of crying covered up by makeup. She collapses on the bed beside him and says, “What’re we watching?”

He shrugs. “Dunno.” He flips through the channels, not really paying any attention to what’s on. Instead, he glances at her. “You okay?”

She shifts and replies, “Yeah. Fine.”

“We’ll go to the pharmacy tonight, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” She’s silent for a moment. “Thanks, Dean,” she says quietly.

“Yeah, no problem.” He settles on a channel, and they watch TV until Sam gets back.


End file.
